I have to admit I am a bit self-righteous, I have never attempted stealing anything—let it be as small as a pack of gum from a convenience store or hot-wiring a car—let alone actually stolen it (that I can remember). In fact the story I am going to relate to you was an accident. Yes, it was. I accidentally tried to kidnap a child, and the story goes like this:
Once upon a time in a land that was full of princesses and princes (sort of) . . . and theme rides and expensive popcorn.
I went to California with my family and re-experienced Disney Land (it is not quite as magical when you are an adult as I remember it being when I was a child). The lines are long, the people are loud, and your feet get very sore by the end of the day—and our feet got very sore because we stayed ALL Day, because if you are going to pay to go to Disney Land you are going to go for all you are worth. By the time we left Disney Land each night we hated that theme park, but we forced ourselves to endure it for as long as possible, thinking to ourselves that we were going to enjoy as much time there as we could. Early mornings, late nights, lots of walking—exactly my idea of a magical vacation.
One of the slightly less popular, or at least quicker, rides was the Indiana Jones ride. It was pretty fun and you didn't end up spending four hours (more like forty minutes or so) standing in line for three thrilling minutes. Upon one of my family's trips there we were being directed through one line by an employee—only my little brother (twelve year old, what can you say?) wasn't paying attention. So, being a good and caring sister I took him by the shoulders and began propelling him forwards—which of course he resisted with all his might—so I pushed harder.
I didn't realize the little brown haired boy I was trying to bodily force forwards wasn't my brother, but a complete and utter stranger, until one of my other brother's tapped me on the shoulder and leaned in to enlighten me. "I think you've got the wrong brother." It was then that I looked down at the startled little boy and realized that, indeed, he was no relation of mine. I let him go, thoroughly humiliated with myself, and hurried away. The little boy hurried over to his sister—who was distracted with her cell-phone and has missed the entire encounter. As I scurried away I heard her asking him in a rather annoyed tone, "what were you doing?" I did not enlighten her.
To add to my humiliation, after I had gotten away from the boy and his sister, and had successfully distracted my brothers until they forgot about my stupidity, we ran into the boy again. The boy and his sister were getting off the ride just in front of us . . . so then my brothers were once again reminded of how utterly rediculous the whole experience had been—and delighted in reminiscing over the encounter with me. The teasing was bad enough on its own, what was worse was how loudly they were talking. If the little boy had forgotten what I looked like, or had even had a slightest inclination to pretend he didn't remember—my brother's ensured that he knew exactly who I was. We followed him down a very long exit line, and believe you me, it was long for more than many different reasons.
What do you say to that boy?
"Excuse me, but you look familiar. Have we met before?" I don't think "met" is quite the right word. Or what about, "Sorry about earlier. I wasn't really trying to kidnap you." Or maybe, "Remember that one time a few minutes ago when I tried to drag you away from your sister?" awkward laughter, "good times."
Moral of the story: perhaps being boring is not such a bad thing after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment